


Square Hole Seeks Square Peg

by halfeatenmoon



Category: Hanazakari no Kimitachi e - Ikemen Paradise | Hana-Kimi (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gender Related, Kink Discovery, Pegging, Post-Canon, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-24
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfeatenmoon/pseuds/halfeatenmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes some courage for Nakatsu and Mizuki to realise that they don't need to blunt themselves before they can fit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Square Hole Seeks Square Peg

**Author's Note:**

> I never intended to post this fic. I wrote it as a kind of comfort fic for myself when I was recovering from surgery and heavily sedated, but then I mentioned it to pikasafire and she said "POST IT!" so here it is. I don't claim that it's the best thing ever. It's flawed. But it's kind of personal, so I'm not really interested in changing it, or talking about how it could be better, or whatever. It just is.

Long after they first started dating, Nakatsu still thanked god every day that Mizuki was his. He still couldn’t believe it had happened, that she had, one day, decided that she wanted to spend her life with _him_. The first time he kissed her, he was certain that he was the luckiest person in the whole world, and the feeling never went away. Every single day, whether she was by his side, holding his hand, or whether he’d gone hunting all around his room for his favourite shirt only to find that Mizuki was wearing it, Nakatsu new that Mizuki was perfect, and he could never, ever want anything more.

Except that sometimes, he did.

Gender wasn’t important, he told himself. He shouldn’t have to tell himself. He knew it in his heart. He loved Mizuki now, as a girl, _his girlfriend_ , and he loved her just as much as he had when she was a boy. (He knew she was never a boy, she had only ever been disguised as one, but for some reason he always found himself thinking of those days as _when she was a boy_ , not _when she was pretending_.) Finding out her true identity had never altered his feelings for her, not for a moment. Mizuki was Mizuki, was the person he would be in love with for the rest of his life, until he was so old he couldn’t remember who he was or what he was doing except that he loved her.

And yet, the first time they kissed, when Nakatsu could barely think from the explosion of joy obliterated everything in the world except for Mizuki’s hands around his neck, her lips on his lips, and the knowledge that _she loved him_ , somehow even then, there had been a tiny little worm of doubt in his mind. The knowledge that for as long as he’d wanted this, dreamed about it, howled from wanting it so much, it wasn’t quite what he expected. At the same time as he was reeling in ecstasy from the simply sensations of slipping his hands around Mizuki’s waist and feeling the softness of her breasts pressed up against his chest, he couldn’t quite squash the memory of a very different fantasy that had kept him up at night for months on end. He couldn’t forget that for as long as he’d dreamed about kissing Mizuki, he had imagined sliding his hands around a less curvaceous waist, pressing himself against another chest as flat as his. And sometimes, when he could admit it to himself, he imagined the feeling, just of the _presence_ , of Mizuki’s dick against his thigh while Nakatsu pulled the other boy’s body to his and lost himself in her mouth.

But he pushed the thought away. Nothing was ever exactly the same as one imagined it was going to be, and even if the circumstances were a little unusual, this didn’t have to mean anything. He loved Mizuki. Mizuki loved him. Nothing could ever change the fact that this was, simply, the happiest moment of his life.

The happiness didn’t go away, didn’t diminish, even as it became an everyday part of his life. The last days of his high school career drifted past him in a haze of joy. He didn’t care what it looked like to other people, and took no notice of what the other boys thought of him for dating Mizuki. They’d kept it a secret at first, mostly because Mizuki felt weird about other people knowing, but eventually it all slipped out, and Nakatsu certainly didn’t care who knew. He had no reason to hide his love any more, and hell, even if Mizuki were really a boy, it wouldn’t make any difference to Nakatsu. He didn’t love boys or girls, he just loved Mizuki. Saying it like that made it easier to keep from thinking about which one he liked more.

After they’d left school, the two of them got an apartment together. Sitting across the tiny kitchen table from Mizuki every morning, eating the fairly bad breakfast that one of them had prepared and drinking cheap coffee, Nakatsu often thought that there was no way his life could possibly be better. And often he said it out loud, too, making Mizuki laugh and shake her head at him. But it was true, and he knew she felt it too. There was no way things could be better.

They didn’t make a hell of a lot of money, working boring jobs to get them through college, but they had carefree days and nights together. Really, truly together. Discovering Mizuki’s body was an adventure, and it was a gift. By the time they finally had sex, of course, Nakatsu knew what he was getting into, knew that she wasn’t really a boy, that this would be something that he knew how to handle, at least in theory, right? It was scary, and it was beautiful, her warm, soft body under his hands, learning how she moved and what could make her moan. Even once he figured out what he was doing, when it started to become familiar and he could take a different kind of pride in knowing what Mizuki wanted from him, being able to read what she needed, even then, he always marveled that she was his. He felt a sense of reverence every time she started to strip off her clothes, whether it was a feminine summer dress or a men’s shirt and pants just like his. He was filled with gratitude every time he pulled her body to his, still barely able to believe that this was something he was _allowed_.

If he still dreamed, in idle moments, of finding a man’s body under Mizuki’s everyday clothes, he could put it down to habit. It was the echo of a fantasy he’d had long ago. It made sense at the time, but that was all in the past, and if it still came back to haunt him every now and again, well, perhaps that was just one of the things about memory, that there were things he still couldn’t quite leave behind.

Yet other days, the days when Mizuki brought home flowers to keep on the windowsill, pranced around the house barefoot in her sundress, and when he realised she was calling herself ‘ _watashi_ ’ rather than ‘ _ore_ ’ more and more… on those days, he wondered whether Mizuki was still the girl… boy… whether she was still the _person_ Nakatsu had fallen in love with. He fell for someone who had deflected every ball the boys threw at him the first day in class, ran a marathon while spotting blood all over the track and learned to speak as roughly and rudely as the rest of them in a few short days. Now she wore high heels, sometimes, and although it made her closer to his height, it usually made her seem more feminine to him. He loved Mizuki, of course he loved her, he would always love her. But sometimes, with her hair growing longer and so much else about their lives changing, he wondered where that Mizuki had gone.

But then she would do something, walk through the front door with her bag slung over her shoulder, curse like she used to at school, haul some furniture up the stairs for one of the women in the other apartments, or challenge him to a contest, and he felt like he was falling in love all over again.

They wound up wrestling on the floor one night, laughing and shouting and grabbing at each other in a way that had nothing to do with sex. It seemed to go on forever, the rolling around and shouting and bruising, until finally they found themselves lying side by side on the floor, panting, grinning at each other, and Nakatsu knew he’d never find another girl like this, who could shout ‘I love you!’ when he had her in a headlock, and mean it. And then he let slip a innocent words that made the room turn cold.

“You’re perfect, Mizuki.”

She froze, instantly, and dropped her head so he couldn’t see her face. Something was wrong, he knew it, and he loosened his grip so she could slip away, still not facing him. He wanted to take it back now, even though he couldn’t work out what he’d done wrong, to say that he had only been joking. It could work, too. She’d believe him. But he couldn’t forget the way she looked now, as though he’d _hurt_ her.

“Do you really think that?” she asked, in a small voice.

He could hardly say take it back when she asked him like _that_. “Of course I do. You’re a special person to me, Mizuki. I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else. I’ll never meet another girl like you. I always wanted to marry you. I used to think about it even back when I thought you were a boy.” He laughed at the memory. “I think once I even tried to work out which one of us should be the bride and…”

“Stop it!” She rolled over again to face him, her face set in a serious look. “I… I don’t know if I want to be a bride.”

Nakatsu felt his mouth go dry. “Hey, you don’t have to be. We don’t have to… I mean, maybe it was stupid. We don’t need to get married. We can just be together like this. It was just… I’m an idiot, I…”

“No, it’s my fault.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Nakatsu, how can you know that you want to be with someone forever?”

What kind of a question was that? “I always knew.”

“How could you know back then, when you didn’t even know I was a girl? What I mean is, how can you love someone, when you don’t know everything about them? When you don’t know what else they’re hiding? How can you be so sure, that when you find out what they’re really like, you’re still going to like them?”

Nakatsu put a hand over hers. “I told you before. The gender doesn’t matter to me. It didn’t change the way I think about you for…”

“What if there was more you didn’t know about me?” she asked, her face dark. “How do you know that there aren’t more things you don’t know about me? Things that would make you change your mind?”

“If there are, shouldn’t you tell me? I won’t mind.”

She shrunk away. “But what if you… what if it scares you? What if you don’t me anymore, after that?”

“Sooner or later, you should share everything with me! Now or later, does it matter? I want to be with you forever, Mizuki, and that means we can share all of each other’s secrets without it breaking our bonds. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Nothing you could tell me would stop you being perfect.”

She shook her head. “There are things I want, Nakatsu, and you wouldn’t… I can’t tell you. I can’t.”

“Of course you can.”

She looked at him, and there was a challenge in her eye, a tilt to her chin, that fired off some memory of a confrontation on the track, long ago, stupid boyish taunts that made him embarrassed and lustful at the same time, making him reach out to try to kiss her.

“Aren’t there things you want that you can’t tell me, Nakatsu?” she said, with an air of a boy issuing a dare, and he opened his mouth to say no, of course not, she was already everything he wanted. But then she pulled his body close to hers, and rocked their hips together and suddenly the thought… no, not even a thought, a need, a _want_ forced its way into his head, the old wondering of what it would feel like to be rutting and groaning and gasping against another man’s body, and in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to answer.

It wasn’t until later, after they’d eaten and washed up and watched some TV in relative silence, when they switched off the lights and curled around each other to sleep under the covers, that Nakatsu said, “Maybe we can’t tell each other everything. But I still think, no matter what your secret is, that I would still love you.”

And he wondered if Mizuki could sense the guilt on his shoulders, knowing that he couldn’t do the same thing he was asking from her.

 

He usually got home before Mizuki did; it was just the vagaries of their college schedules that organized their lives that way, but it had become part of the routine. So it was a surprise to Nakatsu when he came home one night to see her shoes already lined up neatly by the door.

“Mizuki?” he called out, as he slipped his own off. “Are you okay? Is something wrong? Why are you home?”

“We need to talk.”

Her voice was shaky, and Nakatsu felt something drain out of him. He paused in the middle of taking off his shoes, not wanting to step up into the house proper and find out what Mizuki needed to say to him. He didn’t want to know if she didn’t want him anymore. He could deal with a lot, but he wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“Mizuki, what is it? Is it the marriage thing? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, it’s much too soon.”

“It’s not that,” she said, softly. “Just… I just want you to see me. The way I am. Just… just come to the bedroom, will you?”

With a deep, terrified reluctance, he made his way down the hallway. It had always been a short walk to their bedroom, but it seemed even shorter now, and he steadied himself against the wall, not willing to think too much about the worst that could happen. His fingers curled around the edge of the doorframe before he could bring himself to look around. He heard Mizuki’s sharp intake of breath as he started to slide the door to the side, and had to stop for a moment, steeling himself for the worst. Then he stepped through, telling himself fiercely that he could handle anything she threw at him.

Mizuki was standing in the centre of the bedroom, dressed in a men’s suit. Not their old school uniform, but a sharper, more adult suit that she’d clearly had tailored especially for her. He could tell, from months of watching her back at Osaka High, that she had bound her chest again, something she hadn’t done since they graduated. She had cut her hair, drastically, the long swathe of hair she’d been growing cropped back to a short, boyish bob. She was, for the first time in ages, every bit the man that Nakatsu used to dream about.

She looked up at him, fearful, as though he was going to be angry with her for dressing that way and for cutting her hair, as though what she was doing was wrong. He wanted to her, kiss her, tell her how beautiful she was to him right then, but he found himself frozen, terrified by the strength of his own sheer desire for her… him… whoever Mizuki was right now. It was all he could do to keep from dropping right down on his knees. She held his stunned gaze for a moment, and then dropped her eyes to her feet.

“You hate it,” she said, softly.

“No…” Nakatsu whispered.

“You wanted me, Nakatsu. And you think you can love me no matter what.” She coughed out a short, bitter laugh, one that wasn’t very funny at all. “Well, here I am. This is me, too. I want… look, it’s not like I don’t like being a girl, too, but sometimes I want… this. Maybe I pretended to be a boy for too long, maybe it made me strange, but I’m… I can’t stop thinking about this, being a… a man. Just sometimes. With you…”

The last part of her speech trailed off into a hoarse whisper as Nakatsu finally stepped forward into the room. He cupped her face in his hands, then ran one hand around the back of her head, feeling the way her hair had been roughly chopped short. He didn’t quite trust himself to speak, but he tilted his head down to meet her lips. He kissed her hard, more fiercely than he ever had before, almost bruising with his intensity. When they parted again, she was panting.

“I don’t care,” he said, breathing heavily as well. “I love you. I _love_ you, and I _want_ you. Like this.” He trailed a hand from her neck down to her waist, lingering at the feeling of her chest bound flat under the shirt and blazer. “I want it all.”

She gave the same bitter laugh and looked away. “You’re just being nice. I know you love me, but you don’t get it, I’m not… I’m not normal.”

“Neither am I,” he said. “I… I say boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. But it does sometimes. I fell in love with you when you were a boy. Sometimes I want you to be a boy. I want you _just like this._ Even if you were something I didn’t like, I’d still love you. I’ll always love you. But you think it’s going to scare me off because you want to dress like a boy?” He laughed. “I fell in love with a boy named Ashiya Mizuki. I don’t think you’re weird for acting like this. I think it’s _hot_.”

Mizuki shook her head. “What if… I… what if it’s not just dressing like a boy?”

Nakatsu stroked her hair. “What did I always say? I love you no matter what. Okay, I thought you liked being a girl, too, with the way you were growing your hair longer and wearing dresses, but if you really want to be a man then…”

“I don’t want to be a man,” Mizuki twisted away from his hands. “I just… I want to fuck like a man. I want…” she licked her lips, desperately, gulping to try to find the air to talk. “I want to fuck you, Nakatsu.”

Trying to think about those words was like trying to walk through mud. Nakatsu’s mind was lost in a haze of confusion, and of wanting. All the things he wanted, that he tried to forget but which came back to him when he least expected it, the months and months of pressing his skin to the body of a boy named Mizuki, they all hit him at once. All his carefully constructed barriers collapsed under the flood of all his fantasies at once, let loose by the mere suggestion that maybe, possibly, it wasn’t so forbidden, maybe he could really have what he wanted, _at last_ , instead of living out the rest of his life with a girl who might never understand.

Mizuki turned around and pulled a black plastic back out of her backpack, hesitating as though she was about to strike with the last straw, as if Nakastu hadn’t already seen enough. “Well, you wanted to know,” she said, wearily. “If you don’t want me anymore, I get it.” She laughed that laugh again, the bitter one that Nakatsu already hated. “I know I’m a freak. It doesn’t really matter if one more person thinks so.”

And then slowly – too slowly for Nakatsu – she reached in and pulled out a dildo and harness. The bag fluttered to her feet as she held it loosely by the base, dangling by her hips. She stared at it for a moment and then raised her gaze to meet Nakatsu’s; her cheeks were flushed pink, as though she were embarrassed, but her eyes were defiant, like he was daring him to be disgusted, to push her away like the freak she thought she was. How could he tell her, once and for all, that she was anything but wrong for him?

Nakatsu tried to speak, but his mouth didn’t seem to be working and his brain was a fuzzy mess of confusion and lust. Before he was really aware of what he was doing he was on the floor, his legs finally giving in, and he was doing the only thing he could think to do. His whole world had narrowed down to this room, to this woman and the desire for her, all of her, and his need was such a raw, primitive thing that he was barely even conscious of the decision to steady his hands against her hips and drag his tongue up the length of the toy in her hand, with the deep, unshakeable sense that finally, somehow, this was _right._

He wanted to tell Mizuki how perfect this was, and how she might have never known it but he was kind of fucked up too, if it was wrong to want this. He wanted to tell her how long he’d dreamed about seeing her like this, and touching her like this, and about all the things he’d imagined Mizuki doing to him that he’d always been too afraid to say and that _he could have_ now, because _she wanted them too_. He couldn’t, though, because it was kind of hard to talk with a rubber cock in his mouth and he was nowhere near ready to pull off it just yet. But when he felt Mizuki’s hands running through his hair, gentle at first and then harder, tugging his head upwards, and when he looked up to see her smiling down at him, her eyes dark and wanting and _sure_ in a way he’d never seen her before, he knew that even if he couldn’t say the words right now, Mizuki would understand.

“Jeez, Nakatsu,” she said, fondly, “Give me a second to put it on, would you?”


End file.
